Good Morning

My boyfriend deserves an award.

He’s watching a friends place while they are out of town, and so the other night I went over. At around 1:30 a.m. he passes out, and I am not feeling the least bit sleepy. It’s an old building, so the heat comes up through the floors. You can’t adjust the temperature manually, thus being left at the mercy of the super. The apartment feels like a Swedish sauna. The bed is incredibly lumpy, I can’t get comfy. I toss and turn all night, not being able to lay still.

I am prone to talking in my sleep, so I mutter utter smack to him while in some incoherent dream world. He thinks that I am talking about something real.

“What?”

“The Saab 4. Do you like that car?”

“What?”

“Would you like to call now?”

“Huh?”

I prop my head up, feeling utterly confused. My dream is still misting in my head, and I can see myself talking, but something seems wrong with this picture and I can’t seem to place my finger on it. I realize then that Mr. Honey Tongue is not dreaming the same thing I am, and that I talking in my sleep.

“Just ignore me, I’m just talking shit.” I close my eyes, and sleep takes over me for awhile.

Finally, around 11 a.m. I open my eyes. I figure that any further attempts at slumber are futile, so I turn around and face my sleeping boyfriend. He groans slightly, and I can tell he is not fully asleep.

“Good morning,” I say and lean in and kiss him gently on the lips.

“Guh-mur-ing,” he mumbles.

I feel bad. I know that I kept him up all night. He has issues sleeping. And I apologize to him. His eyes are still closed. I feel slightly frisky, and have an urge to press the other part of me that arose this morning on to him. But, I know better. He will get mad at me, and claim that I am violating him. So I resist the urge, and instead stroke his arm.

“Were you possessed by a spirit last night?”

“What do you mean?” I respond, putting on my most innocent of voices.

“You couldn’t lie still all night! You were tossing and turning all night!” His eyes are open now.

“I’m sorry.”

“Were you eating pizza at night?”

“No.”

“Yes, you were. At 5:30.”

“I don’t remember doing that.”

“So now you sleep walk.”

“No!” I say slightly aghast.

“Yes, I looked over and you were eating the pizza.” He shakes his head. Any trace of sleep is gone from his voice. “You were like a demon or something last night.”

My urge is now uncontrollable, and my fingers wander to the elastic of his shorts. He instantly slaps my hand, turns over and continues his rant. I lie facing the ceiling. I don’t feel comfortable so turn and try to sprawl myself into a decent position.

“You just can’t be still can you?”

“This bed is so lumpy.”

“Princess!”

“I am not a princess.” A few moments of silence pass. “I can’t sleep anymore!” I declare. He chuckles. I turn around and face his back now, and poke him in the ribs. “Play with me,” I say, laugh, and poke him again.

“Your bright!” He says. “First you keep me up all night, with your demon tossing and turning, then wake me up by talking shit in my ear, go around sleep walking. And now that your all good and rested, you wanna come say to me, I’m bored?”

“I didn’t say I was bored. I said come play with me.” With this I am daring and slip my hand on his generous behind. He pulls his blanket protectively around him, and I am forced to take back my hand.

I lie again staring at the ceiling for a few moments. Eventually one morning urge is replaced by another morning urge, and I get up to go relieve myself. Mr. Honey Tongue deftly turns around, and places one leg firmly over my leg. “But, I have to go the washroom.” His leg remains secure. I bring myself back into bed, and pull him beside me, resting his head on my chest.

In silence his fingers trail down my body, I take a sharp breath as he begins to toy with my manhood. My mind sinks into utter pleasure, as Mr. Honey Tongue proceeds to give me a proper wake-up call. I have to say, there is nothing fucking better than a hood-wash to start your day. And no one can touch my boys skills. By the time he is done, I am lying in bed with a smile spread all over my face.

We get up, have a morning cigarette, but seem to gravitate back into bed. I am lying in his arms. I had a question that I have meant to ask him. I figured that doing it on the phone would not be best. I had told myself I would ask him this weekend. But with the hours that we had left together today limited, I knew I had to ask him now. I psyche myself up for the conversation. I will myself to start talking, but only air rushes out of my throat.

“Uhm, ah,” I begin. I do this because now I know I have to say something. “Who…or uh…did you…got…or get…that D&G bracelet?” His chest heaves with a sigh.

“Why do you this?”

“Who got it for you?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Why don’t you wanna tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was a Christmas present. I got it when we weren’t together.”

This feels like a slap. He is referring to our estrangement, due to my infidelity. I am quite. I feel mad. I want to act immature and demand that he tell me. I see myself jumping out of bed, and going to the living room and lighting a cigarette. Instead I take a deep breath.

“Whatever, you would have taken it, even if we were together.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It’s an extravagant gift.” I screw up my face. “It’s a D&G bracelet, that has meaning.” Trouble with being a philosophy major, you are always concerned with meaning.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

I supply him with a couple names. At the mention of Ex # 1, he shakes his head no. I am glad because that would have bothered me. I mention Ex #2, and he nods his head.

I don’t say anything and lie thinking. In my stomach I feel a hurt. I remind myself that I am the actual cheater and hold my feelings in check.

“Your upset.”

“I’m not thrilled.”

“He came down and gave me my gift since I wasn’t going to see him for Christmas and I gave him a bracelet for his gift.” I don’t say anything. “And I doubt it’s real. Like, he got me a D&G bracelet with diamonds on it. If it was real I wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“Sure.”

“I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t take a $5,000 bracelet. There is nothing going on. He has his boyfriend. It was just a early Christmas gift. And I gave him a bracelet.” He looks over at me. “Your upset.”

“I’m upset that you wouldn’t just tell me when I asked you. Your right we weren’t together, and you could do whatever you want. I just wish you’d tell me when I ask you.”

“I don’t see why it’s so important.”

Through the course of the conversation I have shifted away slightly from his chest, and am now my head is on the pillow. We lie in silence. I feel that I don’t like the room right now, and decide to get up.

I get up and head to the washroom. I am in the shower, lathering myself, humming an old Indian film tune, when a sudden parting of the shower curtain startles me and I jump back and scream. Mr. Honey Tongue laughs at me. And I try to look stern for a moment, but a grin is itching on the sides of my mouth.

“Can I join you?”

“Of course.”

I watch him lather himself. We move around and allow each other access to the water spray in the small cramped shower. He makes fun of how I wash my ass.

“Your really mad at me?”

“No. I told you I am mad that you wouldn’t just tell me. If you don’t tell me stuff and leave gaps for me, then my imagination fills in the gaps.”

“Your one to talk about gaps.” I contemplate this while I am rinsing the soap off my back.

“Listen. I know your not going to forget what happened. I don’t expect you to. And your going to say stuff to me that might hurt. I will take that. But, that doesn’t mean you get to be all secretive and not forthcoming.”

“I see your point.”

We proceed to get ready for our respective days. I iron my shirt, while he makes himself breakfast. I have a few cigarettes while he gets into his fleece-tracksuit. I gel my hair into place, as he ties on his do-rag. I slip on my scarf and get into my wool petticoat as he puts on his bomber jacket. We are rushing around getting our bags together, and making sure we have everything before we leave.

I stop for a moment and look at him, he looks utterly handsome to me. I side step myself into his way and give him a quick kiss.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We order a cab to the subway station, as we don’t feel we can take the bus in this area.

Even though this is a little weekend, make-believe, play-house, that we had, getting ready for work with him feels right.

“I can’t wait to move out next year.”

“Spring time?” He asks.

“Spring at the earliest. Summer at the latest. I could never live in this area though.”

“I can’t even take the bus in this area.”

We laugh. We have a lengthy discussion, which continues as we board the subway, as to the various neighborhoods that we would want to live in. Discussing all relevant pros and cons for every ideal neighborhood in question.

“Wow, I’m going to have start looking in a few months for a place.” He nods.

“It’s going to be fun. You’ll like house hunting with me.” He nods again. His stop is coming up next and he begins to gather his bag.

“Aigh’t see you later, have a good day at work” he says.

“Later. You have a good day too.”

He gets up for his stop. We make eye contact for a moment, and give each other a nod goodbye. I reach into my pocket and pull out my I-pod, and with the turn-wheel set it to shuffle.

I am sitting in the last train on the subway, and I look out to the platform which the subway is rushing away from. The opening strains of Let’s Stay Together by Al Green comes in through my headphones. I see Mr. Honey Tongue walking down the platform, and he is blowing a big-kiss at me in the air. I pretend to catch it and place it on my lips.

I turn around and face ahead of me. I start taping my feet to the beat of the song and start mouthing the words.

Life is ok

Favorite thing in the world currently is my new CD, Indiavision. It’s fucking great. I love it. It’s a collection of Hindi film songs and instrumental from 1966 – 1984. It ain’t no ordinary collection though, it’s all crazy, funky, obscure tracks. I had heard a few of them, actually my dad had them on vinyl, others were pleasant surprises. I feel that all the tracks on the album are solid. Plus, bonus, the CD is recorded in high definition, usually Indian CD’s don’t copy so well. The transfer on this CD is quality.

Work’s pretty cool. Love being acting-manager, or in-charge. Currently I am managing two classes, and later this week will have another class to look after. Bossman! My manger Sun King is going on vacation, and has gotten me to look over the training classes. I thoroughly enjoyed walking around with Sun King, and him introducing me as his in-charge. He’s a great dude, thoroughly respect the guy. He totally has taken me under his wing, and is pushing me forward.

Love my boyfriend. He’s such a sweetie. I don’t know what was wrong with me, doing what I did. He’s so good to me. I think about what I did. I felt so horrible during the whole shit. Why would I bring that upon myself willingly? I guess we have to learn lessons. But to know that he’s there for me, and that his love is unconditional is, I don’t know, it’s sublime.

Don’t like the fucking weather. It’s fucking cold outside.

Onward Troops!

This week I turned twenty-eight. Of course, a birthday is really just a normal day, and I did not feel any magical change.

I was reflective; this has been quite a dramatic year for me. The year started on a high note, I was making genuine progress in terms of living “authentically”. I was seeing a therapist, and the process was helping me come to terms with long-term issues that I had. However, the Big Evil Corporation’s insurance policy would only cover so much of it, and I had to start paying out of my pocket. It would burn me, having to pay $150 for weekly sessions. I kept imagining all the shoes I could have bought instead of talking about my feelings, and some obscure childhood incident. Eventually, I had to discontinue these sessions.

But, I felt some positive results from the sessions. I was able to sleep at night, I didn’t feel anxiety attacks pending at any moment, and had an overall sense of confidence which I had lacked for the longest time. And this was manifesting itself in real ways in my life, I was making serious advancements in my workplace. Even my boyfriend remarked he saw a change in me.

I remarked to Mr. Honey Tongue the other day on the phone, “I was doing good, and it was like somewhere I couldn’t stand that, and I fucked myself up to take myself back to square one.” I’m not sure where the downward spiral began.

I suppose I had made some superficial improvements in my life – but there were still deeper issues which had been ignored – mainly my relationship (or lack thereof) with my father.

Over the course of the summer I rekindled my romance with various letters of the alphabet. What began as a, “Oh I remember what this was like” and “I only do this a couple times a year”, became a monthly habit, then progressing into a weekly habit. I realize now, it was escapism, a desire not to deal with the here and now. I had been down this road before, ‘bout five years ago, during my rave days. Apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson.

And, then I did the worst thing possible. I cheated on my boyfriend. But even after that situation had come to a head, I had lower still to fall. As my previous entry indicates, I basically doused myself with gasoline and set myself on fire, burning my self-respect for all to see in public.

I suppose the next few days brought my moment of clarity. That I was just running. That I had love in my life in the form of my boyfriend, and that it was a good thing. I still hold that occasional/functional intoxication is a good thing, but my partying habits were not functional.

I have a challenging road ahead of me, but I want to rise to the occasion for once, and not take the easy route. I’m verging on my thirties, and I don’t want to be a victim of my past. Conquering my demons will not be easy, but the way I have handled my problems for the last ten years is not the soloution.

I am looking forward to 2006. I feel it will be my year. I can almost see the looming battles facing me, but I will not sit on the sidelines, sticking my head in the ground. Like a phoenix from the ashes, I will rise again. Watch out now!

Crash and Burn

Last Friday…

I am pouring myself a drink in Special K’s kitchen. The glass is two-thirds full of Appleton Rum and I feel it could be stiffer still, I fill it pretty much too the top, and splash it with some coke. I take a sip, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. I smile contemplating how much I love rum.

I am enamored with my reflection. I keep staring at myself in the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony, admiring how the jeans I am wearing make my rear-end look. I keep singing this line from some Missy song, “I’m really, really hot, radio won’t let me stop…”.

I feel that maybe I am getting too drunk, as I am a bit too animated when I am talking, and I am not sure that I am making sense. I figure that the e I will drop in a few minutes will negate the effects of all the booze I have consumed.

Me and my entourage walk into Besharam – this gay Indian jam – and I turn to Trini Gyal and exclaim, “oh yeah, I love that my e is kicking in right when I walk in.”

The coat-check line is way too long for me, and I feel that I need more booze right now. I give one of the girls in my crew my jacket and walk over to the bar. I figure I might as well start double fisting, and order two beers. I can’t seem to drink one without spilling the other all over my shirt.

….I am dancing and my left-knee is betraying me and won’t seem too support me, I clutch tightly on too Trini Gyal to prevent a fall. Cutie Bum comes in and supports us both and prevents a big wipe-out….

…The club has gotten ridden of the risers they had before. I access the big speaker next to me and feel that I can get on top of it and release my inner go-go boy. I get on top and realize this is impossible. I get down, and wonder why I haven’t gotten kicked out yet…

…I am dancing like an insane person, going crazy, moving ten-times to fast to the beat…

…I see gossipy bitches I recognize from the scene around me. People who have nothing better to do, than to chat 'bout next person’s business. I keep giving them all dirty looks, and hold my head high with some imagined pride…

…I am standing outside with my jacket on for some reason. I don't remember comming outside, I figure I must have wanted some fresh air. I can still hear strains of Indian music coming from the club. I decide I have had enough fresh air, and want to go back inside. This big black lesbian bouncer stops me and says, “you are not going back inside, after what you did.”

I turn my head side-ways to her, with a look of utter shock, and in a child-like voice say, “what did I do?” She just shakes her head. “But my friends are inside,” I protest. I feel this is a good enough reason for me to go back in.

“You are not going back in tonight.” I don’t believe this is the final word on the matter, and try a few more times to enter back into the club. Prince who was nice enough to come outside and keep me company, is laughing at me.

The entourage comes out, and Special K launches into a rant right away.

“You were a fucking asshole tonight, you were acting like a fucking diva bitch, you wouldn’t fucking listen to me…”

“Really?” I look around and the rest of the group is nodding they’re heads in agreement. “Oh, well.” But this isn’t enough to shut her up, and she continues her ranting.

I feel a momentary cringe. I push this feeling away, and say loudly, “oh, fucking well.” I make a big grand brushing away gesture with my right hand as to discard this topic of discussion.

We go back to her place. I take over the sound selection as I am the music Nazi. I am still over animated and am acting way to extra.

Cutie Bum is a dear and drives me and Trini Gyal home. I am falling asleep and seem to wake up right in the nick of time to guide him appropriately. I get out of the car and a sharp pain runs up and down my left leg. I hobble into my house, peel off my clothes and collapse in my bed.

I wake up around eleven a.m. and don’t want to remember what happened the night before, so I close my eyes tightly and go back to sleep. My bodily function force me out of bed around six p.m., I drink three glasses of milk to fill my stomach, as solid food seems impossible to digest. I go back to my room and lie down. Eventually sleep takes over me again. I get up around midnight, my body feels fully charged and won’t permit sleep any more. I take two-sleeping pills and unconsciousness takes over again.